


I mistle-totally want to kiss you!

by AnnaBolena



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Grantaire is agog and aghast, M/M, Pining Enjolras, This is pure fluff, mistletoe kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 03:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaBolena/pseuds/AnnaBolena
Summary: It should have been a foolproof plan. Enjolras had done research. Time and effort had gone into the formulating of said plan. And yet –a.k.a. Enjolras has careful plans to smooch Grantaire this Holiday Season.





	I mistle-totally want to kiss you!

**Author's Note:**

> This exists because of a prompt from tumblr by Grantaire-the-drunken-artist  
> 100% unadulterated fluff. 
> 
> Also, did I actually write a Les Mis Fic that isn't 10k+???? Its more likely than you think!

(It should have been a foolproof plan. Enjolras had done research. Time and effort had gone into the formulating of said plan. And yet –)

“Alright, that’s the last of it,” Grantaire says as he places the box on the floor in front of his apartment door.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, pursing his lips and furrowing his brows in concentration as he thinks about how best to go on with the plan now that the circumstances are changed.

(“Thank you for driving me home from the event, Grantaire, could you possibly help me get all the tech stuff up to the fifth floor apartment I share with Combeferre who happens to be conveniently absent to wine and dine Courfeyrac this fine evening?” – It should have been easy. Combeferre even approved of his deviousness, inasmuch as Combeferre could approve of anything that wasn’t as straight-forward as: ‘I like you, Courfeyrac, more than platonically, do you perchance have an interest in going out on a date with me this Friday at seven?’

“Why yes, Enjolras, of course I’ll help once I grumble a bit about losing ten years of my life to the creaking noises of your terrifyingly ancient elevator!” – Grantaire should have enthusiastically responded, he should have gotten out of the car in a manner so chipper it would have belied his initially feigned reluctance. That would have reassured Enjolras.

“Excellent,” Enjolras would have replied at the sight, beaming brightly, “While we’re up there, be sure to notice the mistletoe I hung up over every single door and do please make a comment on it so that I can sweep you into my arms and hope I don’t mangle your lips in my foolishly inexperienced attempt at kissing you passionately.”

Enjolras had not counted on his roommate promptly taking down every mistletoe save for the one above the kitchen entryway after he had gotten caught beneath one too many times for one morning at breakfast, a chance Courfeyrac jumped at, because that little devil delighted in living up to the assigned moniker. It should not have been a foil that proved to be quite so damaging. And yet --)

“Can you put that box in the kitchen?” Enjolras blurts out, coming up short in terms of other excuses. This one isn’t ideal either. He’s usually quite suave when it comes to charming his conversational partners, but this just seems flimsy and he is sure the other man is at least a little suspicious now.

Grantaire, because he _would_ choose this moment to be especially contrary, raises an amused brow. “You keep your HDMI cables and beamer in your kitchen?”

Enjolras has come too far to change his excuse now. It’s important to be consistent.

“Combeferre is very peculiar about his methods of organization,” Enjolras huffs, causing a lock of hair to bounce.

(He took extra care with his hair today – he even used the expensive mousse Courfeyrac got him a new bottle of for their little non-denominational holiday celebration a few days ago. It smells like vanilla and spices. Enjolras has heard Grantaire say that he likes walking into the Musain to that particular combination. Enjolras has been paying attention and maybe had to disguise his blush as a glare when he heard it.)

“Far be it from me to criticize one man’s methods when I squander my life in barely contained chaos,” Grantaire finally nods and makes off towards the kitchen. Enjolras keeps pace with him, but frustratingly, the man does not glance up once as they walk. Grantaire misses the decoration entirely.

“Yes, just put it right on the counter,” Enjolras waves a hand. He worries at his lip, feeling quite irritated. What to do now?

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Uh,” Grantaire stretches his back – Enjolras watches the way his ridiculously comfortable Holiday Sweater (he is pretty sure the embroidered ‘Merry Christmarx’ and the accompanying portrait are Feuilly’s work, this year’s secret-Santa-or-other gift, because Enjolras has a similarly political sweater that he wears with pride, one he received last year) rides up and catalogues it as a good thing – before taking his time with a coherent answer. “You don’t think I ought to be heading back? Surely you have deadlines that need to be met, projects that need to be researched, arguments that need to be gotten into with strangers on the internet...”

“I have some time,” Enjolras says, coming around towards the fridge and hoping that if he makes himself some tea Grantaire will be more easily persuaded. “Tea? Unless you’d really rather go and were just being polite, which I would completely understand.”

“Tea sounds good,” Grantaire nods quickly. “Yes. Tea sounds excellent.”

“Your voice is all hoarse,” Enjolras realizes, “We’ll definitely make some ginger tea with lemon and maple syrup then. Combeferre and Joly drink that stuff by the pot when they meet up to study.”

He prepares and thinks of something to say to break the silence that ensues after Grantaire makes a comment confirming that Joly makes the stuff at home as well. (Of course now Grantaire discovers there are some awkward silences he cannot shatter by beginning a ramble or two. He _would_.)

“What did you think of today’s presentation?”

Grantaire snorts. “You don’t even want to know.”

Enjolras bristles, “Was I _that_ bad?”

“On the contrary,” Grantaire says, leaning back against a counter and distractedly bouncing his hands off the marble surface, “You were, as always, utterly captivating and very, very eager to perform, but the goals you presented were unachievable and inconceivable to most mortals. I’m fairly sure I saw even Combeferre raise his Courfeyrac-plucked eyebrows at one point.”

“It was not raised in skepticism, he went over that particular presentation with me before,” Enjolras shakes his head quickly. No, Combeferre had raised an eyebrow because Grantaire interrupted and Enjolras had gotten caught on the way Grantaire’s finger circled the rim of his glass. Grantaire has very distracting hands, they’re really big and hairy and Enjolras can’t ever stop looking at them when they move. Courfeyrac giggles about it whenever Enjolras brings it up, and Combeferre raises his brows. That’s how it works. It’s reliable.

“And anyway,” Enjolras continues when Grantaire does not, “The general feedback was that our core considered the presentation well-received. Bahorel even went around the room flirting while calling it consumer analysis.”

“You’d be hard-pressed to find someone against educating poor children, especially if they voluntarily take time out of their day to hear someone speak about it. Your audience rarely comes to heckle you, Enjolras. But even if they consider your goals noble, I am willing to bet half of them went home commending your passion but bemoaning the futility of it all.”

“As you do?”

Grantaire grunts, non-committal but still something of a confirmation. The tea is nearly finished.

Perhaps this presents a chance.

“Why don’t we head towards the couch? The tea needs to steep a while.”

Grantaire jumps at the chance, already turning away. Enjolras follows, and beneath the door, he catches Grantaire at the elbow. The man whirls around, confused. Enjolras quite likes the way his brows knit together – concerned but vaguely surprised as well. Grantaire is often soft when caught by surprise. He does not meet the unexpected with anger – at least, Enjolras does not think he has seen him do it. No, Grantaire grows angry, frustrated, when presented with the expected he had hoped to avoid – injuries at protests, arrests, or general unwillingness of his friends to relent when a cause is deemed hopeless. But even then, Grantaire argues, Grantaire rants, but beneath that there is still softness, a vulnerability that makes Enjolras hope he will also take this impending surprise well.

“Look up,” Enjolras urges.

“I thought the preferred direction you preach was down?” Grantaire laughs, but stops abruptly when he spots the mistletoe.

“Well,” he says, taking a deep breath, “I – we can ignore it.”

“We’re alone,” Enjolras begins to say, hoping to ease Grantaire into what is to follow.

“Precisely.” Grantaire exhales, relieved but showing sadness in his eyes. “Nobody will know if we don’t obey its call.”

“And what if I want to kiss you? It’s still tradition.”

“You don’t want to kiss me,” Grantaire says immediately, then backtracks. “You want to kiss me?”

Enjolras nods. Grantaire makes a curious noise in the back of his throat, leans up onto his toes, and then presses a soft kiss to Enjolras’ left cheek. It feels nice. There is a barely-there sensation of bearded chin and wet lips.

“There we go, mischief managed, tradition fulfilled, etcetera.”

He turns, only for Enjolras to pull him back in, take his face – the facial hair feels nice and soft, and smells like the beard oil he knows Courfeyrac gave Grantaire for his birthday, the one that smells like lilies and peppermint and the one Enjolras loves  – in both hands and kiss Grantaire’s lips. 

Enjolras, being somewhat new to this area of romance, doesn’t quite know what to do now, so he stays in the realm of pressing lip to lip and hoping for Grantaire to take over. He knows Grantaire has had his fair share of lovers and then some, so he will show Enjolras how to actually go about kissing.

Grantaire does not.

Enjolras pulls away, gives Grantaire a mildly embarrassed look. “I was thinking more of a kiss like this.”

“And did you-” Grantaire says, clearing his throat, blinking, “Was that – Were you satisfied?”

“I didn’t quite know what to do. You didn’t seem to enjoy it.”

“I – no, uh, no, I definitely enjoyed it. It kind of felt like being shot with a stun gun or something, but I…yeah, I liked being kissed by you.”

“So…” Enjolras trails off, pointedly glancing at Grantaire’s lips again. Grantaire does not seem to get the hint. Or Grantaire refuses to acknowledge the hint. In any case: “Would you like me to kiss you again?”

Grantaire seems a little dazed as he nods, and Enjolras thinks that seems very in keeping with describing himself as stunned. This time when their lips slide together, Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras’ midriff, firmly but chastely, and opens Enjolras’ mouth up for him with the delightful expertise Enjolras hoped for initially.

(The kiss exceeds every expectation. Enjolras thinks he might happily live in this kiss for the rest of his life. Courfeyrac was right, damn him, there is good reason people enjoy doing this, good reason people make time for this.)

When they draw apart once more, Enjolras is beaming.

“Okay, that is half the plan completed now.”

“Plan?” Grantaire says, recoiling a little, eyes turning guarded.

“Yes,” Enjolras smiles, feeling a little silly about it, “The first step was to put up the mistletoe for an excuse to kiss you.”

“And the second step?” Grantaire winces, like he almost doesn’t want to hear the answer. But he must. 

“The second step is to ask you to be my boyfriend.”

Grantaire smiles, finally. It's wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, hope you enjoyed it!  
> Come say hi on tumblr
> 
> (for those who can't follow the link it's annabrolena)


End file.
